


Naked Beneath the Mask

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Engineer's wisdom, M/M, Multi, Pre-Relationship, Sniper being good friend, Spy trying to work out who he is, based on a headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:06:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: Who is he, without the mask? The question has haunted Spy for many decades, especially since the advent of Team Fortress, and meeting Scout for the first time.Being trapped in a singular location with so many clashing and complimentary personalities, and feeling the sudden burden of abandoned paternal duties crashing down, was starting to get to the masked espionage agent. From Spy's perspective, understanding and acceptance comes from the most unlikely source...





	Naked Beneath the Mask

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Freshsalad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freshsalad/gifts).



> Based on a random convo where we were talking about how Spy/Sniper tends to either have a) woofbified Sniper or Spy, b) creepy stalker Spy or c) feral bushman Sniper that has to be civilised by Spy. 
> 
> Primary concept: Why give us 10K of creepy ass spysniper when you could have the pair happily together, and they tell the team by announcing Scout now has two dads over dinner bc they went to Las Vegas over the weekend.
> 
> @camiluna27/FreshSalad said that Sniper could help Spy learn to be a dad to Scout, and well, I had an alternate idea, so… this happened...
> 
> The beginning does read like a headcanon, as it evolved out of one by accident.

Sniper has no experience as a father to impart on Spy; though he certainly helped the process in the end. If anything, Engie might be the closest the team has to a paternal figure. And Spy would prefer brutal _death_ over admitting it to the Texan…

 

On the other hand, Sniper is just oddly casual with everyone, even those he’s going to kill. He can get serious, but mostly, it’s chill… everyone can relate to him, in their own way. He listens, offers advice, and has your back on the field. Like that one good family friend or distant cousin who knows everything, but takes the time to speak to you at family get-togethers.

Spy, in contrast, has been made paranoid by the world in which he lives. Lies, deceptions, masks, targets, always the threat of death haunting every move… if your smile is even an ounce deceptive to the wrong person, then you die. He has learned to be what people need to see, to adapt to a challenge, to be no one and everyone all at once.

Who he is, as a person, is a little difficult for him to gauge. The closest he came to being… _him_ , a person, was when he spent time with Scout’s mother, who challenged his normal statements, behaviours, and seductions as utterly false. An act. And he had been forced to suddenly realise... that she was, as always, entirely correct.   
It had made wooing her far more difficult, as none of his routines worked, but in fighting for her affection...he had come closer to being himself than ever before. Though, that had been a long time ago, Spy could no longer recall who that had been, exactly.

 

Now Spy was on a base in the middle of seemingly nowhere, he was in just such a similar situation;  out here, he did not need to _BE_ anyone. That is, after battle was over… he was just… _Spy_. And who was that? Normally, before all this mess, he'd flit from assignment to assignment, changing faces, roles, identities as swiftly and easily as one changes attire; but here, there was a fixed identity, and it all boiled down to being no one at all, hidden behind a magenta mask. 

He went for haughty, and cold, to keep the other Classes at bay. The man he once was, was dead, if you thought about it.   
Buried under a thousand faces and facades, all in the name of espionage. For some reason, he almost could not imagine what name would be written on the tombstone for that person, it had been so long since he had heard the syllables uttered, much less felt a connection to them. If anything, he hated having to think on this reality, for his thoughts were always circuitous, going round and round until his head ached and his body felt like thick smoke. It was easier to bury these maudlin moments in wine and books, focus on the here and now, rather than the stark realities of his existence.

 

Although, it happened to have an unpleasant way of latching onto him, even here.  
Scout had been a rather unpleasant surprise. Spy had thought, based on the most recent correspondence he’d received from his former lover, that the boy was going to college for an art degree; and yet… here the lanky child was, laughing loudly in delight as he smashed in skulls with that damned baseball bat he favoured. Somehow chosen from amongst the world's best mercenaries, (and wasn't that a crushing blow to his dreams of a gentle child living a safe life?), to join the ranks of RED team, in this never-ending war for the gratification of two far-too-rich, far-too-ancient men. Who, if truth be told, could have resolved their differences far less violently, if they had engaged a counsellor decades ago.

 

Perhaps she had lied, to assuage his... well, not _concerns_ , but... perhaps _curiosities_ in relation to the boy's ongoing wellbeing and happiness?  
He had not explicitly told her that he was now employed with RED, though, and their correspondence was always routed through several proxy addresses so none but the highly determined could trace their contact. It was very likely that she had no idea that Spy knew, or maybe Scout had lied to her about his whereabouts. Although in truth Spy had noticed some clear artistic ability in the boy; perhaps it was not all a falsehood, maybe this was how the runner sought to take the burden of collegiate tuition off of his mother's overworked shoulders?  
Spy would have paid for it immediately, if the subject had been broached, but she was a very proud woman that would never have allowed it. Even though money meant nothing to the espionage agent, it accumulated each day he worked, and there were precious few things in the world he wished to purchase that he did not have already, and many other luxuries in his price range that were utterly impractical for a spy to have. One could not hide a gold cruise ship, after all; he still remembers telling that Bond fellow ( _John Bond? Jake?_ ) that he was being utterly ridiculous... but then, that particular agent had a reputation for being unable to keep secrets, including not telling every damn person he met his name, so his death had not been of any great surprise to anyone in the know.

  
But Scout... had talent, and Spy detested it was being _wasted_ here. Art was something Spy secretly coveted, and perhaps the boy's works were crude and often done in the style of comic books; but there was potential there for something more, in his opinion. Indeed, the sketchbooks full of doodles, of everyday objects and even the other members of the team… showed promise. Many were so incredibly lifelike; though he could never look for long, having to sneak in when the boy was busy or asleep.  
Spy particularly liked the drawings of Sniper lounging, asleep, in odd locations. Especially the time they'd found him in a large tree out the back of base, at 2Fort; clearly comfortable, but limbs akimbo as he defied gravity by staying in place. Scout had captured the scene well.  
  
Though, of all the works, Spy found himself repulsed by the drawings of himself; all of which seemed to have harsh angles and auras of menace about them. The artist putting emotion into every line, telling Spy how he really felt, and it pained Spy to view it, somehow. Was that how he was seen by the others, or simply Scout alone?  
He had heard that damned Engineer tell the boy it was ' _eerily lifelike for Spook_ ', and that had made him pause.  

 

The other mercenaries all seemed to form attachments with one another so easily, getting along with his son in a way Spy never could; finding comfort and strength in their friendships, or whatever it was Medic and Heavy were pretending not to have together. They could stand to be slightly more subtle, but Spy could not exactly fault them for their... affections, even if they were a bit strong to deal with in such a confined space as this base. 

Though of all the mercenaries, he thinks that perhaps he detests the bushman most. The galling ease with which Sniper could just be there, and relate to others, be accepted for existing as he was and never questioned; especially by the boy. At least the Engineer was more obvious in his intentions, always making an effort to engage the rest and force cohesion over the rowdy bunch, but people just tended to gravitate to Sniper. In much the same way as they unconsciously avoided Spy.

 

These insecurities circled in his head, adding to the miasma of self-doubts he studiously pretended did not exist, as they weighed him down. Scout's artistic endeavours, the ones of himself at the very least, made him question everything. All the others were drawn in different lights -S _oldier yelling at heads and also joking with Demo over dinner, Medic blood-spattered, and also feeding his doves-_ only Spy was consistently portrayed as a villainous figure.

Maybe... maybe keeping them all at bay was not such a good idea as previously anticipated?

 

At that... well, epiphany, Spy decided to try and make contact with his colleagues. At least, somewhat attempted to do so.   
For the weeks following the personal moment of introspection, Spy was less openly hostile towards the rest of the mercenaries; and indeed, it did seem to win him the attentions of the other REDs both on and off the field. They were more likely to guard his back, in battle, or help him get away after discovery. Even though he still hated the fact that Sniper's 'help' tended to come in the form of being drenched in piss to cover the flames he was engulfed in...

 It was still an improvement. Though, in their downtime, most found that conversations with Spy were often one-sided and not just a little bit frustrating, because he would reveal almost nothing of himself during them. Only vague stories of espionage.   
What else could he talk of, though? Who else had he been, but a _spy_ for decades? And no one was saying the obvious about Scout, which everyone seemed to simply know… so that topic was off the table. _For now_.

 

Engineer irked him. Too open, and always stealing the limelight unintentionally… not to mention how fatherly he was towards the boy, which deepened the loathing Spy felt towards the man.  And the Pyro was worse; that blank stare and muffled phrasing concerned the espionage agent no end. The frenchman simply wasn’t sure how to communicate with whatever lay beneath... and that made the firebug a liability, in his eyes. 

The Soldier… was _loud_. Often hazardous for the people of the secret agent persuasion, and indeed, if Soldier rocket-jumped anywhere near where Spy was hiding... it often resulted in a trip through respawn for the masked man; and his mood tended to become quite dour. However, hearing tales of the man's cunning in making his own way to Germany to hunt for nazis, despite the way his country had tried to prevent it, was always fascinating to listen to. And Soldier never tired of Spy telling tales of how he had had the pleasure of killing quite a few important members of the third-reich in devastatingly brutal ways. 

Demoman happened to be a surprisingly good conversationalist when he was in the mood to deal with ‘Spy’s shit’, of which there was apparently quite a lot, according to the mathemagician. He was also a fascinating study of a human being; born into a world where the scientific met the supernatural, and his family's response was to learn how to blow both up. He also seemed the most aware of the Scout situation, always offering some underhanded advice about how to confront the lad, or just solemnly passing a bottle of something strong over without a word, after the pair had had an altercation.

Heavy and Medic were a duo in all things, and Spy found he tended to get along with rather them rather splendidly under certain circumstances. Conversing with the Heavy in a multitude of languages kept his skills sharp, and fluent, whilst also giving both the foreign men a chance to utilise their native tongues with someone adept at them and not fumbling for words. Sometimes, in his own little idea of humour, Spy would slip an incredibly wrong word in amongst a casual sentence, just to watch one of the pair burst out laughing before carefully correcting him. They knew it was his little game, and always played it to the end. Medic, on the other hand always had something slightly blasphemous and medical going on in that brilliantly twisted mind of his. Spy was invigorated, and sometimes mildly sickened, to hear him describe the next experiment with such a violently delighted grin on his face. Not to mention the fact that both of them had bonded over being members of Support Classes who were frequently targeted, and accidentally left to die by their teams. Heavy always disliked that conversation, because he tried very hard to keep Medic alive on the battlefield... and being reminded of failure put him in a bad mood.

 

Scout…   
Well, the Scout was warming up to him, at least. Especially since the little bastard had realised Spy had quietly retained the notecards from the whole bread-teleportation fiasco from a few years back; the ones depicting the masked man being run over, shot, and having sexual relations with the Eiffel Tower. It had confused the runner, at first, but Spy had made an off-hand comment at how he admired the linework and detail, the skill behind the pictures, if not the subjecture... and it seemed to have mollified the youngest RED member. Sometimes he found little doodles around the place, on spare paper, on documents, on cards and other ridiculous places... put in locations only he would be likely to find them; and, somehow, it feels like Spy has made progress with the boy, even if they are generally argumentative whilst face-to-face. All things take time to mend, after all. 

At least he had bonded with the boy a little during that time, especially after the whole 'Miss Pauling date scenario' which had been an awkward moment for everyone involved. As his so-... teammate had yet to quite understand that her disinterest was not so much in Scout himself, but in the fact he was not Spy's _daughter_. when that day came, the espionage agent already had a consolation speech roughly drafted, to give whatever heartbroken mess he was left with for a child... it would be interesting, to say the least. Still, being in Scout's confidences had changed things for the positive, and it gave him... perhaps 'hope' was too strong a word, but something like it, for reconciliation.

 

And of course there was Sniper... who, of all things, Spy accidentally manages to get along with now that he has 'lightened up'.   
That indescribable magic for sudden communication and companionship appeared contagious, in that it had seemingly rubbed off on Spy at some unknown point in time, and now he could not get rid of the lanky bushman. And, although Spy cannot pinpoint with any accuracy when this had occurred, he feels like it had begun not that long ago.

Certainly, that closeness had saved his life on this day; wherein they were inexplicably at Badwater Basin once again, and things were not going well at all.   
BLU had been forced to push the payload today, the REDs had that duty yesterday; no one really enjoyed these matches, too many areas available for ambush by both teams. Spy had been trying to take down the level two sentry that the BLU Engineer had managed to get up by the first checkpoint, because apparently no one on his damn team was paying attention today, but had been forced back. Indeed, the BLU Pyro had seen fit to chase the Spy halfway across the map; leaving him near the third checkpoint, and thankfully, right in Sniper's line of sight. 

As the BLU monster toppled to the floor, body ripe for respawn's swift retrieval system to snatch away, Spy was able to limp over to a nearby healthkit and fall on it. Frustratingly, it was one of the smaller ones, but the larger variety and their Medic were both closer to the front of the battle, so they would not be of any great aid to him right now, all the way back here-... wait, why was Sniper back here?

 

"BLU Demo got a lucky potshot into me last nest," Sniper answers, clearly reading Spy's confused expression as he offers the espionage agent a hand up out of the dirt. "Took a bit to get out of respawn, 'cause the other spook wouldn't stop spawncamping."

"You 'ave disposed of 'him, I assume?" Spy asked, palming his weapon and doing a cursory glance around the area to detect a cloak's tell-tale shimmering ripple against solid backdrops; or perhaps a familiar face frozen in a specific expression. He found nothing. 

"Yeah, took him out with a bit of jarate magic and one of Solly's rockets. Bit of luck he respawned round the same time or I might've gotten stuck in there. Then when finally got out, and Solly'd rocketed off, I saw the BLU firebug giving you the run-around, I thought I'd stick around and take him out for you." explains the sharpshooter as they move towards the loud shouts, screams and explosions echoing off the battlefront, unlike any sane human beings out there. They can vaguely see Soldier and Demo rocketing through the air, fighting their opposites with vigour and delight. Sniper heads towards the stairs, then throws a cursory glance at Spy. "Gonna set up here on the roof, you might wanna come grab one of the extra health kits up here, Spook."  
  
Normally, he would complain or make a derisive comment that 'a Spy was always fine', but instead, Spy simply nodded in acquiescence. "Oui, a good idea... bushman."  
  


They ascended the stairs in silence, hearing familiar and foreign cries as members of both teams were killed or wounded; the grinding halt of the payload moving back and forth. It had almost trailed back onto the first point by this time. Medic's ubercharge had taken out the BLU sentry, which was swiftly replaced by their own; though no new teleports had been set down as of yet.

Sniper was checking his weapon, before lining up the sights around the corner of the building. Spy ambled over to the nearby healthkit, and slid down practically on top of it; sighing at the tingling sensation of it rushing through his veins, gently coercing injuries, burns and bruises to heal whilst instilling vigour. He was not back to full health, but that was no barrier. He could not, in good conscience, take the other kit just yet... it took far too long to regenerate on the field, and Sniper might require it. 

The realisation of his thoughts drew the espionage agent up short. In good conscience? Since when had he had one?   
What did he care if the piss-flinging bushman was left to respawn, if he, himself was in perfect health?

Except, some dark part of his mind pointed out that he _did_ , indeed, _care_. Whether it was Sniper, or Scout... maybe even Engineer, who needed it more than himself; he would have offered the healthkit without reservation. And how had this happened, at all?  Changes of heart on this scale were the sort of mythical fairystory nonsense only the Demo would speak of in his tales...

Or perhaps Spy was losing his mind. Yes, that was a more comforting thought.

 

"You having a good day, there, mate?" interjects Sniper's gruff Aussie accent. 

And, so utterly caught off-guard by the question, considering the strange and dark thought patterns he was currently trapped in, Spy accidentally allowed a genuine laugh to escape. The real and incredibly ugly one; which he desperately tried to hide, given that it tended to involve copious hoots and snorts so highly undignified and opposite the suave image he tried to portray in all things. 

Spy immediately clamps a gloved hand over his mouth, eyes wide in horror as he realised that someone else -a teammate no less- had heard the awful thing. Knew at least one of his awful personal secrets... and could not be killed, to ensure silence his on this matter.

 

Though the espionage agent could see it was clearly far too late, for the damnable bushman was grinning from ear to ear, eyes sparkling as he gazed at Spy.   
"S'that why you never laugh 'round the rest of the team, mate?" Sniper queries, tone... hard to read.

 

Spy blatantly refused to answer, nor look at the man a moment longer.

 

"What, you embarrassed about it or something, Spook? You don't need to be, it ain't that bad... sorta cute, the real you showing through that mask'a yours." Sniper continues.

Spy touches the concealing garment out of habit, and Sniper shakes his head. "Ain't the mask I meant, mate. The fake Spy persona you got going on 'round us, even though you don't need to pretend with us. And hey, ya laugh really ain't that awful or nothing. There was this bloke back home had a laugh on him that sounded like an explosion in a bicycle horn factory, and you ain't got nothing on him, Spook. Nothing."

 

After a pause, Spy find the right words to answer. “…your discretion is appreciated, bushman.”

 

The rooftop goes silent, for a long moment, as Sniper stares down his scope and the crack of his rifle couples with the plummeting cry of a dead BLU Soldier.  
It feels somewhat awkward to Spy, this sudden quiet in what should be a cacophony; but Sniper doesn't seem perturbed in the least, he continues to gaze down the rifle sights and continues to pick off any BLUs who try to clear the path for the steadily-moving payload. It would crest the corner in another minute, if uncontested. 

Spy should be helping, but he was tired, and content to remain where he was a moment longer. Though he should really have been paying more attention to their surroundings, to make up for his lack of participation in the battle. At the very, very last moment possible, he notices a small blue dot trailing lazily, unhurriedly so as not to draw attention, up Sniper's arm. Moving towards the RED's forehead, as the man stared off at distant threats and ignored the immediate.

 

With a lurch, Spy jerks upwards, snags Sniper by the shirt's collar and yanks the man back; forcing them both around the large container on the rooftop, as a sniper rifle cracks off far too close, bullet pinging off where Sniper had been a second before. The sharpshooter curses, tries to right himself, and ends up falling on Spy and elbowing his unanticipated saviour in the process. 

Except... it wasn't Spy who let out a surprised, 'Oof!' in response to their sudden predicament, but the third, as yet unseen form they collapsed with. Both REDs jerked upright immediately, on guard and snatching out their respective melee weapons; Spy's calculating gaze darting around for any additional ambush as Sniper went right for the main threat.

Sniper's kukri was pointed directly at the last place they'd seen a flash of rippling blue, as the cloak was rendered momentarily ineffective on contact with an enemy combatant. The open-style plan of the rooftop held both positive and negative points; on the upside, at least they could not be trapped in a small area with someone waiting to backstab them should they back into the wrong corner, but problematically, the enemy agent could be anywhere. Not to mention, his teammates could come through one of the many doorways at any second, and blow them all to hell.

The BLU decloaks in order for his derisive sneer to be seen by his captors. "Gentlemen..." he drawls, and RED's Spy is forced to winder if he had ever looked so haughty, so smug and detestable, when speaking to his own teammates much less the opposing team. He fears the answer might just be yes.

 

“Sorry mate, looks like I win this one.” Sniper says, lashing out at the trapped backstabber, and landing a clean blow through the throat. Spy pretends he didn’t flinch when the blade hit home, killing the other man instantly. He’d been cleaved with a weapon of the very same make and model just two lives earlier… and you never quite forgot a kukri-related death.

Sniper grumbles about getting pretentiousness on his kukri, wipes the blade dry on the BLU’s suit pants, and offers Spy a cheeky grin. The latter deigns to return it.

“You alright Spook?” the sharpshooter asks, staring at the dissolving body to make sure they hadn't been Dead-Ringered. Hated the unexpected sound of a a decloaking, vengeful Spy behind you, just when you thought you were safe... but nothing seemed forthcoming.

 

“My wellbeing was never in doubt, bushman. Although you were nearly killed twice over in a matter of seconds… you must pay more attention to your surroundings!” admonishes Spy, trying quite hard not to sound like he actually cares. Though the expression on Sniper's face said he wasn't buying the act at all, and might be downright amused by the whole thing.

 

“The Spook's right, you know... you should pay more attention, I just walked right up here in plain sight and ya did shit-all about it, mate.” comes a familiar, haunting voice, as BLU Sniper steps onto the roof, weapon levelled at them both. The BLU grins, coldly, "Call yaself a Sniper?"  
  
Spy curses himself for the inattention, already in motion towards the man, a hand on his watch's cloak activation function... the man's rifle goes off, with a blinding wall of sound. There's a hollow discomfort between his eyes, like thunder has gone off inside his skull, and in the next second he's being forced through the Respawn system for the fourth time that day.

As he picks himself off the floor with a hollow laugh, and slips a cigarette between his lips, Spy casts his eyes about the empty room. "I would 'ave to say, bushman, that I do not seem to be 'aving a very good day at all..."

. . .

Spy did not see Sniper again until the match ended, victoriously, and everyone traipsed back inside; exhausted but exuberant. It had been touch-and-go, BLU almost made it to the third checkpoint, but a series of strategic strikes from Spy, Sniper's persist headshots, and Medic's tireless efforts to build ubercharge after ubercharge, decimating any offensive push the other team rallied. 

 

“Mon dieu, I could use a shower…” Spy moans quietly to himself, feeling the designer suit sticking uncomfortably to his body with a mixture of sweat, blood and he's still not sure what Mad Milk is, but it smells foul. Not to mention, the heat of the day was horrific; the fact no one died of heatstroke or dehydration was a miracle. The cool airconditioning of the spawn room was a blessing, as he waited his turn to use the teleporter back to the off-site RED base.  
  
2Fort had a base attached to the back of the battlefield, but most other locations had an off-site base you had to tele into; though those were locked until battle ceased, unless ceasefire or emergency circumstances were called. But there were only two teleporters allotted for this purpose, so it took a while to get everyone home, especially since you had to wait until everyone was assembled before using them. The whole 'no man left behind' ideology and all that.

 

He’s shoulder-checked out of his reverie by the infuriatingly youthful Scout, as the runner dashes past with a cheeky, “Ya damn right ya need a shower, Spook, can smell you from the last checkpoint!”

He briefly questions how much trouble he’d be in with Scout’s Mother if he accidentally pushed the kid off a cliff, somewhere non-respawnable… before shaking off the notion. She would hunt him to the ends of the earth and not let his death be swift or peaceful; a hell of a woman, and incredibly protective.   
A companionable arm drops over his shoulder and chases away that particular train of thought, both surprising and concerning the espionage agent. _No one_ touches him, save Medic, and occasionally a teammate dragging him out of harm’s way... or to a medkit; much less doing so without Spy sensing their presence. 

“We did good out there today, mate… nice work.” Sniper says, clapping him on the shoulder before letting go. Casual, companionable, comfortable.

“…and you were not so terrible, I suppose.” he tosses back, faint grin letting the other know it was only in jest, as he alighted the teleporter pad. In a blinding whirr of red light, he was set down somewhere miles away from his last location; a true miracle of technology, though he would never tell the Engineer such things. 

A moment later, Sniper appeared on the other telepad, as unperturbed as ever. Continuing their conversation as if they had not been apart for the last half a minute, whilst changing scenery to the small locker room-slash-teleportation area of their offsite base. 

 

“Serious, Spook. You really saved my arse out there, and I 'preciate it…” Sniper adds, after a moment, holstering his weapons in the nearby locker designated for the Sniper Class, and snagging out a pile of clean attire. Clean towels and soap were always mysteriously present in the communal bathroom, though no one ever put them there or washed them; nor knew who did. It took some of the hassle out of post-battle routines, in much the same way that the kitchen always being fully stocked tended to save time and effort on shopping. Though they did cook for themselves, on a rotational class roster. 

Spy does not respond; idling by the other man for no reason he can clearly discern. His own items would not leave him until he reached the assigned quarters for his Class. Less chance of the other Spy sabotaging them that way, which was possible after all, given that disguised spies could utilise opposing team's teleporters; another unintentional side-effect of the post-battle headcount was to make sure they didn't have too many members. Having a rogue Spy on the homebase could be disastrous. 

Sniper notices the espionage agent's stalling and cocks his head. “Uh, you coming to shower with the rest of the team, or do you have a thing for being filthy I should know about?”

 

The Spy’s first reaction was mild outrage at the very _insinuation_ of such an obscene idea… but he tamps it down, takes a deep breath and adopts a characteristically smug smirk.   
“Oh? Did you just invite me to _shower_ with you, bushman?” he says, tone overly saccharine and mildly seductive. One he tended to use on targets, quite successfully, in the past.

The lanky man nearly falls over his own feet as he whirls to face Spy, visibly puzzling out how his words could have allowed the frenchman to infer something like that.  
“Er…” he managed, before someone else cut in.

 

“ _Oh my god, you two are far too old to be flirting about fucking in the showers…_ ” groans Scout, looking horrified. “It’s bad enough when Heavy and Medic do it… uh, the _flirting_ , that is. Although ya do hear things when _the guys in the room adjacent yours forget the wall’s only like A CENTIMETRE THICK_ …”

Both the other two mercenary men were doing their damndest not to look the aggrieved runner, and Engie was now making his trademarked expression of disappointment at the pair. They were in for a _Texan Talking-To(TM)_ about corrupting the youth of today, everyone in the room could sense it in the air.

 

Sniper, on the other hand, spluttered for a second... then gave the runner a light whack to the head, sending cap and headset skittering across the floor. Scout yowled loudly, acting as if it was some grievous blow, and Engie’s deathstare naturally released the Heavy/Medic duo in order to turn upon the sharpshooter. Sniper did his best to ignore it.

“Oi, ya cheeky wanker, m'not that old…” he mumbles, and Spy is amused to see the embarrassment all over the Australian’s face.

“Oui, he is still of prime age… and not everyone can simply pine after someone who can never like them back, for years on end, Scout. That would be… sad, _non_?” he digs, and the runner goes crimson.

But Scout doesn’t have a retort, so he deflates, throws a sad glare at both Spy and Sniper, then retreats. Uncharacteristic, and a little concerning... maybe he had recently come to terms with Miss Pauling's preferences after all. 

 

“Ya didn’t have ta be that harsh, Spah.” Engie admonishes, a tad quietly. “He just needs ta work out Miss P, lovely as she is, ain’t on the same baseball team if ya get my meaning. Though ah reckon he might've just done some figurin' and cottoned on, been a right wet blanket for the last week..."  
  
Spy jerks at the words, frowning briefly as he tried to work out how he had not picked up oon such a drastic shift of moods in his teamma-... son. Well, he was still figuring out this whole parenting thing, mistakes were inevitable, were they not?

 

“S'alright, I’ll talk to him after we all get cleaned up. For a noisy little bugger, he sure loves to stargaze… just sits quiet as a bilby, on top'a me camper with me. It’s nice…” Sniper tilts his head at Spy, “You might like to try it sometime…”

Spy raises an eyebrow in response, tilting his head to peer at the sharpshooter. “Oh? Before or after we do something incredibly scandalous in the showers, _mon amie_?”

Sniper laughs and claps the masked man on the back, companionably, if a bit hard. “You’re a bit of a wanker yourself, mate, must be genetic…”

 

And he’s already gone, lanky limbs propelling him swiftly down the corridor that led to the communal bathroom. Spy imagined the place to most likely already be full of steam, half-clean mercenaries and mis-matched songs in all manner of languages being shouted over each other. Such was the chaotic nature of hazarding to clean oneself communally, he supposed. 

Spy grabbed his own attire from the locker, and hesitated, wondering if he could really trust his teammates enough. His own quarters had an in-built bathroom that usually sufficed all his needs, for the very reason of maintaining anonymity… every base did, in fact. The Spy Class had the privilege, or perhaps curse, of separate amenities to maintain their secret identities. Which was, the more he thought about it, a laughable concept here.

Even if he expressly danced nude before the team and told them his name, it would mean little. The opposing Spy could find very little information save perhaps a birth certificate, should he learn it; everything else was under pseudonyms and false identities. He had been a spy far longer than he had ever been-... well, the person he was born.

 

Though now the floodgates had opened on that particular topic, the more Spy realised that it was even more absurd if you factored in the reality that he refused to even show his face to the very men and Pyro whose lives he saved and was saved by, on a daily basis. Not a single one had seen him without the mask. How utterly obscene was that?  
Although, he did realise the irony in that, even if he removed the cloth… there was a real question of whether the other mask he wore, would ever come off... or whether it was permanent?

His mouth tightened into an odd grin, as he shut the locker door. It was no matter, really.  
Spy was... rather oddly certain that, given time, he could work out who he was in terms of identity, amongst this strange assimilation of mercenary men and... Pyro. Their presence would certainly be supportive factors in finding the man behind... Spy, whoever that was. Reclaim the name that was once all he was, find out who was still attached to it.  
Maybe that person could be a better father than Spy was now, a better friend and teammate. His thoughts briefly drifted to Sniper, and smiled... maybe more than friends.

 

Spy realised he was already moving down the corridor, and nearly laughed at the strange thoughts swirling in his mind. Of a vague hopefulness for the future, normally so stark and bleak in his imaginings. And the it all would start… by merely taking a shower in the same room as his comrades, and joining a lanky Australian to stargaze.

_How ironically simplistic_ , he thought, stepping into the starkly white tiled room of the communal showers… and slipping off his mask without any ceremony or pomp. Leaving the undressing area in little more than a towel, and feeling slightly less certain about this than before. His eyes briefly catch the face left without it's protective layer, as he passes fogged mirror, and decides that he looks no worse for wear than any other there. Continuing on with this minor revelation playing on repeat in his mind.  
He moves through the chaotic mess of steam and song, towards the only free cubicle; thankfully next to his target. The chest-high dividers were almost laughable for protecting any shred of modesty someone retained, but they still gave the sense of separation, almost as if it had been an afterthought as to the bathroom's design.

 

Sniper, who had been loudly adding a slightly lewd rendition of _Waltzing Matilda_ to the bathroom's cacophony, visibly starts, as Spy takes the stall next to his; the sentence he'd been competing against Demo's loud singing with, dying halfway through and engendering an 'Ye right lad?' from the other end of the room.

"Yeah." Sniper calls back, half-heartedly, clearly trying not to stare too obviously at Spy's face. The espionage agent would be flattered, if he wasn't quite certain that Sniper was mentally comparing his features with those of Scout, to see where they overlapped; it was the intense concentration in his eyes that gave it away. So Spy cleared his throat to snap the other out of it, and this time Sniper nearly drops his loofa as he snaps back to reality.

After a pause, the bushman smiles; handing over a bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. Spy makes a mental note to restock the communal bathrooms with a nicer brand, but nods his thanks anyway. 

 

“Glad to see you could make it, Spook.” Sniper adds, companionably.

 

And, for some reason Spy can’t name, it feels like Sniper means _more_ than simply the fact that he was physically present. That it had something to do with having left his mask behind to do so. 

His lips curl up into an amused grin as he reaches for the taps.

"As am I, _mon amie_." he responds, "As am I."

**Author's Note:**

> Behold my TRASH!!!


End file.
